But by the weekend when Cathy called again she had forgotten. It had all drained out of her mind as if it had never happened. She heard Cathy’s voice and answered “How are you, darling? How’s Jamie?” She remembered almost at once, as soon as she heard the tone of Cathy’s voice change, but by then it was too late. She deserved everything Cathy called her, unkind as it was. She should never have forgotten. She wouldn’t have believed it was possible that she could, except that somehow she had.
She went downstairs to Bethany. “I’m going senile. I’m going like my mother was.”
“What have you done now?” Bethany asked.
“Have I said that before?” Trish asked, appalled.
“Only hundreds of times,” Bethany said. “What is it?
Trish told her about Jamie, and about forgetting. “I didn’t say anything at home because of the twins. They’ll have to know, but I didn’t know how to tell them, and then I just—it went out of my mind.”
“Cathy will never forgive that,” Bethany said. “But it’s not your fault, Trish, you know it isn’t. It’s no more your fault than if you had Parkinson’s and you dropped a cup and it broke. It’s a medical symptom.”
“I do blame myself. And you’re right that she’ll never forgive me. She’s always been the most difficult of them, and now she’ll be sure I’m a senile old fool and not fit to have charge of myself never mind the twins.”
“I’m here for the twins if it comes to that,” Bethany said. “And Helen and Don. You’re not in sole charge. And you’re not dangerously forgetful anyway. You do forget things, but you’re all right.”
“The Mac helps a lot,” Trish said. “It’s a godsend. And so are you, Bethany. I don’t know how I’d manage without you.”
“Well, I’m here,” Bethany said.
31
I Hope I Forget: Pat 1992–1999
Philip took a course and trained as a carer for disabled people. “There were very few places, and I’m sure I got into it entirely by explaining that my mother was a double amputee who had been in a wheelchair since I was four years old,” he said.
Bee laughed. “Why do you want to do it?” she asked. “Couldn’t you teach, like Sanchia, or do casual work like Ragnar?”
“I could, but I’d rather help people,” Philip said. “I need something to bring in money, and this is good money and odd hours, just what I want. Casual work is boring and pointless, and teaching is soul-destroying. And once I have the qualification I can do this anywhere in Europe. If I happen to have three days free in Heidelberg or Venice I can pick up some caring work there.”
“Teaching can actually be rewarding,” Bee pointed out.
Philip blushed. “Your kind of teaching, of course, or even Mum’s, but teaching music to beginners is what I meant. I’ve seen it grinding Sanchia down.”
Things went on as they were. Pat grew more forgetful and started relying on lists again as she had when the children were young. She stopped driving because she felt she wasn’t safe, and she stopped writing and updating her guidebooks after the final update of the Rome books in 1994. She handed on all her materials to a young writer Constable recommended who would keep them going. “They’re an institution,” her editor said. The new girl seemed impossibly young, but she was older than Pat had been when she had written the first Florence book. “And she loves Italy. That’s her real qualification,” Pat told Bee.
In 1998 Jinny announced that she was getting married to a contractor called Francesco. Pat and Bee rushed off to Florence at Easter to meet him and his family. He was younger than Jinny and had typical Italian good looks. “I’d like to sculpt him,” she confided. “If I did, would you mind if I put it in the courtyard?”
“Better ask him. It’s your house now,” Pat said.
“A contractor, eh?” Bee said. “Maybe we can finally get a stairlift put in. And a recharger so I could bring the electric wheelchair to Italy, maybe?”
The wedding was arranged for July, when they would be in Florence as usual.
Pat was reading the new Margaret Drabble when Philip called with news of his own. “Sanchia’s pregnant,” he said.
“Whose is it?” she asked.
“We don’t know and we don’t care,” Philip said.
“Of course. Well, congratulations.”
“I’m a little overwhelmed. Remember how surprised I was to find I was an uncle? Finding I’m going to be a father is even more overwhelming. Oh, and write this down right now, Mum! I don’t want you forgetting to tell Mamma! Where is she anyway?”
“She went somewhere, I forget,” Pat said. “Maybe physio? Is it Wednesday?”
“It’s Thursday,” Philip said. “Have you written it down?”
“Yes,” Pat said, writing it down carefully. “I’ll tell her the second she comes in. Will you all come to Italy for Jinny’s wedding?”
“I will absolutely come, and I think I can speak for the other two in saying they will want to be there and will come unless there’s something that absolutely prevents them—I know Ragnar has a performance in Helsinki sometime this summer but I can’t remember when.”
Pat sat and waited for Bee to come home, her notebook on her lap. As soon as she heard the car she got up and went out. “Sanchia’s pregnant!” she called, as soon as Bee was out of the car. The new car allowed Bee to drive it in her chair.